by Ella Ivey

Created on: June 29, 2010

"Why don't you just take this back and bring me one that has been cooked on the premises,"
These are the words that are coming out of my date's mouth.  I am sitting in a Pizza Express furiously twiddling with my hair as I'm watching my date argue with the waitress.  Already he has fussed around how this restaurant is filled with too many children (it's a Saturday night and it's Pizza Express - what do you expect?), has fussed about the fact that he had to park too far away from the restaurant, which resulted in the scrapings of his shoes, AND ordered the house wine, asked to taste it, pulled a horrified face and then sent it back.  It's official - I have hit a new low with this one. 

I didn't necessarily want to go on a date with Grant, but somehow I found myself sitting in front of him, staring at his receding hairline, the stuffed napkin hanging from his collar, and his not so pleasant mannerisms.  This was my only free Saturday night in a long time, but my friend asked me to entertain her out-of-town cousin and me, not being able to say no, happily obliged.  I just didn't realise that her cousin would be this specimen sitting in front of me. 

    "I've been to the finest restaurants in Paris," he pronounces 'Paris' like he's French, "Food just has to pleasure my palette just so," he continues to slur with his cockney accent.  "I've been to many wine tasting courses.  The proper ones!  You know, in France," he continues but I'm quickly losing interest.  "It just doesn't compare to the piss poor stuff served here in England," he takes a sip of water and snorts.  "Even the water has a better taste there," and lets out a huge chuckle. 
    "I'm sure living in France for so long has given you the manners and etiquette you so clearly display," I said sarcastically.  If he caught what I meant he certainly didn't show it.  He clicked his fingers at the approaching waitress and shouted, "Where's that cannelloni, love?"

When the waitress told him his food would be there in a few minutes, I knew we'd have problems.  Five minutes later and Grant is getting restless and keeps repeating, "You just wouldn't find this sort of behaviour in Pareeee,"
That STUPID accent.  I want to yell, You're from Islington.  You only lived in Paris for three weeks! But miraculously I refrain.  We've been here two hours now.  My food came and I ate it without a

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